


Keep You In The Dark (You Know They All Pretend)

by taggianto



Series: The Pretender [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Kneeling, M/M, but like, d/s dynamics, really mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-28 22:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13913493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taggianto/pseuds/taggianto
Summary: Kent Parson is the captain of the Las Vegas Aces, a doting cat parent, a collector of snapbacks, and a dom. These truths, Jeff held to be self-evident. As blatantly obvious as the color of the sky, or the superiority of Tim Hortons.It turns out that Kent Parson was just another pretender.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happened was (of course) during practice.

Kent was on the ice skating suicides long after the rest of the team had gone in to the showers, like the extra fucking idiot that he was. Jeff finally came out to look for him after waiting in the locker room for thirty minutes. He’d already showered and changed back into his sweats and he just wanted to go _home,_ for fuck’s sake.

He shouted out across the rink. “Oy, asshole! What are you doing?”

“Fuck off!” Kent shouted back, his breathy voice echoing through the empty practice arena.

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

Kent glanced over at him, a strange look in his eyes. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he went back to skating.

Jeff crossed his arms. “You’ve been at this for over an hour, Parse,” he called out. “Time to go home!” Kent mumbled something that Jeff couldn’t quite make out and kept skating. “Parse, did you hear me?” He kept skating. “Parson!” And skating. “Kent!” And skating. “ _Kent Virgil Parson, come here, NOW._ ”

Now it’s Jeff’s voice that was echoing throughout the arena. Kent just looked at him, somewhat dazed, sliding backwards on his skates. Soon, however, he did just as Jeff had commanded, and skated over toward the bench.

Up close, Jeff could see that Kent’s pupils were blown wide, and there was a blush high on his cheeks that wasn't entirely due to exertion. Then Kent bowed his head slightly and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Sorry, Jeff,” he said quietly.

Jeff blinked a few times. Well, that’s a tone of voice he’d never heard from his captain. His _dom_ captain. But the look in Kent’s eyes right then... He shakes himself out of it. “Well, whatever man. Just… come get ready to go home, okay?” He popped the nozzle of a water bottle and offered it over to Kent.

Kent, who didn’t take it from Jeff’s hands, but slid his lips around the nozzle and _sucked_.

Oh.

Shit.

Fun fact: sweat pants do not do a very good job at hiding spontaneous erections.

Kent slipped off of the bottle with a gasp and his eyes locked onto Jeff's, wide.

“Um.”

“Yeah.”

Kent licked his lips. “I’m just gonna…” he motioned toward the tunnel leading to the locker rooms.

“Yeah man,” Jeff replied, blinking. “Uh, I’ll uh… be right there.”

With an awkward pat on Jeff’s shoulder, Kent disappeared down the tunnel.

What. The hell.

If Jeff didn’t know any better, he could have sworn that Kent was on the verge of slipping into subspace. But his captain was a _dom_ , he knew that as surely as Jeff knew he himself was a dom. He’d _heard_ Kent’s dom voice. He’d seen him take subs down before.

Jeff shook his head. He was just imagining things. Imagining, and hoping for, things that weren’t true.

Kent avoided him for the rest of the week.

 

===

 

The second time it happened, they were at their apartment, Kent watching as Jeff moved around the kitchen making dinner. The only sound was the faint crackle of chicken frying and Jeff’s quiet humming. It was peaceful.

“Hey,” Jeff said after a moment, stirring seasoning into the pan. “Can you grab the tortillas for me? I don’t want this to burn.”

“Sure.” Kent stood, a soft scrape of the barstool against the stone floor. He ducked into the pantry and soon emerged with a package of flour tortillas. “Tada!” he said, setting them on the counter.

Jeff grinned. “Good boy.”

The reaction was immediate. Jeff actually watched as Kent’s pupils dilated and the blush spread across his cheeks. “Oh, um…”

Before he could say anything Kent just motioned toward the hallway. “I’m just gonna… wash my hands.”

“Okay…” Jeff blinked a few times at Kent’s rapidly disappearing figure.

Huh.

That night, after Kent had gone to bed early, Jeff sat out in the living room with his tablet. His fingers hovered over the screen, unsure, before he pulled up an incognito window on his browser. If he was wrong about this, he sure as hell didn’t want Kent finding out. He took a deep breath and typed into the search bar _how to tell if someone is a sub closeted_.

 

===

 

The third time it happened, it was no accident.

Jeff had done his research, and he was pretty sure what was going on here, but any time he tried to bring it up with Kent, he just deflected and changed the subject. It never seemed like the right time.

Until it was.

They’d just gotten back from a disappointing practice. Kent was moody and pissed off about something one of the rookies had said, and something one of the trainers had done, and try as he might, Jeff couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

“Cap, let it go, it was just a bad day.”

“Fuck off, Jeff. I actually have to deal with this shit. Christ, do you know how early I’m gonna have to go in tomorrow to fix the whole situation with Carl?”

“I thought coach said you didn’t - “

“I’m the fucking _captain_ , Jeff. Of course I have to --” Kent tossed his gear bag loudly into the living room and angrily ran a hand through his hair.

Jeff set his own bag down carefully. “Look, just… calm down.”

“ _Don’t_ tell me to fucking _calm down,_ Troy.”

“So we’ll go in tomorrow --” Jeff said, trying to maintain a calming voice.

“Fuck that, I should just head back now, with all the _shit_ I have to get done before this fucking team is ready for pre season.” Kent had already started to slip back into his shoes.

“Kent, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What the hell would you know? I’m the one who has to deal with all this, I don’t see a fucking letter on your jersey,” Kent spat at him.

“Kent,” Jeff said more forcefully.

“Oh, fuck off, Jeff, I’m just gonna --”

Jeff took a breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was a hard, commanding edge to his voice. His dom voice. “Sit down, now.”

Kent blinked, halfway through shrugging back into his coat. There was a short pause, before he slowly sat down on the couch. “What --”

“Don’t talk.” Jeff said, and Kent immediately closed his mouth, though there was a panicked look in his eyes. Jeff took another steadying breath before looking back at Kent. “Take your shoes and jacket back off.”

There was an edge to Kent’s voice when he replied, and only the slightest hint of a waver. “I’m not a fucking sub, Jeff.”

“The fuck you aren’t. Did I say you could talk?”

Kent blinked, but wordlessly did as he was told, and soon his eyes were dark and locked with Jeff’s.

“Now,” Jeff said, steeling himself for the next question. God, he hoped he wasn’t wrong about this. “How long has it been since someone’s taken you down?”

Kent’s eyes went wide and he looked like he was about to launch into a panic attack.

“ _Shit,_ ” Jeff muttered under his breath, then went to sit down on the sofa next to him.

It looked like Kent wanted to flinch away from Jeff, but he was frozen in place. “I’m not -- I don’t -- I --”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Jeff said, calmly, sliding his hand along the back of Kent’s neck and squeezing slightly. He felt some of the tension melt from his shoulders. “Do you want to kneel for me?”

Jeff could see the conflict flash across Kent’s face. The need to go down for a dom that was asking him to, the fear and panic of being caught out, the indecision. Jeff took a calming breath and tried again. “Kent, can you kneel for me? Right here, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He held his gaze, and then slowly, fluidly, Kent slipped from the couch and slid to his knees in front of Jeff. Jeff’s heart rate spiked at the image of him, his captain -- Kent fucking _Parson_ \-- kneeling for him. He reached out and slowly ran his hands through Kent’s hair, tugging gently until Kent’s cheek is rested against his thigh.

He continued to move his hand through Kent’s hair for a moment, before asking his question again. “How long has it been since someone’s taken you down, Kent?”

“Dunno,” Kent slurred. His eyes were glazed over just from _kneeling_ for Jeff, for fuck’s sake.

“Answer me, please. How long?” Jeff tugged at Kent’s hair to emphasize the question.

Kent blinked a few times and came up enough to find an answer. “Years. Dunno, three? Four?”

“ _Jesus,_ ” Jeff cursed under his breath, then looked at Kent. “That’s not healthy, man.”

Kent shrugged. “Can’t sub in th’ NHL. Can’t go down. Hockey s’more important.”

“They changed the rules years ago, Kent. You know there are subs in the league now.”

Kent snorted. “Yeah, and they’re all... fourth line dusters.” He sighs and pushed his head back against Jeff’s hand. “They’re targets on the ice. Liability.”

“But you’re a sub,” Jeff said and he felt the tension shoot back into Kent’s body.

“I’m not,” he said quickly.

“Kent, you’re going down right now, you can’t tell me --”

“I’m not. ‘M a switch.”

Jeff sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn’t even considered that. He knew about switches, of course, but they were so rare that he’d never met one -- well, until now -- and had only heard about them in passing. It was such a foreign concept, someone who could be both a dom and a sub. It didn’t make sense.

Kent must have taken the sound to mean that Jeff was disappointed in him because he started to shrink away from his hand. “I should… go, I should…”

“No, no, shh… sorry, I just-- I’ve never known anyone who was a switch before, I didn’t mean to…”

“‘S fine. I’ll go,” Kent said, as he started to push up from the floor.

“No,” Jeff said, more forcefully, keeping his grip tight in Kent’s hair. “You need-- fuck man, you need to go down, shit if it’s been _years_ I mean… Please, just… please, let me take care of you.”

After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few seconds, Kent finally relaxed against Jeff’s hand, and allowed himself to be moved back to Jeff’s thigh. “Okay,” he said quietly, barely more than a whisper of breath. “Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s only once Kent was fully down - his cheek resting on Jeff’s thigh and his eyes closed - that Jeff started to worry. 

Did he do the right thing here? 

They hadn’t negotiated, they hadn’t even really  _ talked _ before Jeff had put Kent down. But that’s  _ all _ he’d done. He’d asked Kent to kneel, and he’d gone down so quickly... Something in the back of Jeff’s brain winced at the tone he’d used when Kent had tried to leave though, some little nerve center whispering about dubious consent in subspace. He wasn’t -- He wouldn’t take advantage of a sub like that -- he would  _ never _ , especially not when it was his captain, his best friend.

Because if Kent had left while he was still down, that would have been worse. Right?

He did the right thing by keeping him here. Right?

Jeff lost track of time, absorbed by his thoughts and calmed by the repetitive motion of running his fingers through Kent’s hair. He was surprised, then, when Kent started to stir and a glance at the clock told Jeff that he’d been down for over an hour. Shit. He hadn’t even put a pillow down for Kent’s knees.

Kent blinked a few times before he looked up at Jeff, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus on him. “...Jeff?”

“Hey, cap, there you are,” Jeff said, quiet, soothing. Which was a direct contrast to how badly his hands were shaking. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” came Kent’s reply, still a little slurred.

“You wanna come up here?” Jeff patted the sofa next to where he was sitting. Kent nodded, and Jeff helped him get up onto the couch, smiling as Kent immediately leaned against him. “We need to get you something to eat and drink,” Jeff said.

“Tired,” Kent repeated, burrowing his forehead into Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff ran his hand up Kent’s arm soothingly. “I know, I know. We can go to bed after we eat, okay?” He felt, rather than saw, Kent nod against him. 

Jeff’s heart was racing as he helped Kent to the kitchen, fed him pieces of a granola bar and held a bottle of Gatorade to his lips. Kent was still in the sleepy-pliant fuzzy state of a sub coming up and Jeff was terrified of what was going to come next.

Kent allowed himself to be led to his bedroom without complaint, let Jeff help him change into a soft tshirt and sweats and quietly asked Jeff to stay once he’d slipped beneath his comforter. Far be it from Jeff to be able to deny him that.

When he woke two hours later, he was alone.

A cursory search around the apartment turned up nothing. Kent’s keys and shoes were gone, as was his jacket, and unless she was hiding somewhere different than she normally did, so was Kit. It wasn’t until he made it out to the kitchen that he saw the note stuck to the fridge by a melted snowman magnet from Miami Beach.

_ Jeff - _

_ I got a room at a hotel. I'm taking Kit with me.  _

_ You should stay away from me for a while.  _

 

===

 

Scrappy slid to a stop so close to Jeff he could feel the snow thump against his shins. “So what’s up with you and Parson?” he asked, without preamble.

Jeff sighed. He could hardly hide anything from his d-partner, and Kent hadn’t exactly been subtle about the whole cold shoulder thing. “Personal stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oooh, trouble in paradise, eh?” The words may have been innocent enough, but the way Scrappy was waggling his eyebrows was anything but.

“What?” Jeff furrowed his brow in confusion. “Trouble in… Kent and I are not in a relationship,” Jeff said once he grasped his teammate’s meaning.

“Uh huh, right, and I’m the Queen of France.”

“No seriously, we’re not--”

Scrappy held up his hands. “Look man, I get it. Homodynamic relationships take a lot of work. I mean, when Marie first invited Sasha to sub for her, I didn’t think…” Scrappy absently ran his thumb along the stitching on his collar. “Anyway, it took a lot of talking, but we worked it out is all I’m saying.”

“We’re not…” Jeff made a noise in frustration and shoved his liney toward the pile of pucks they were supposed to be sending into the net. “Just shoot the fucking puck, Scarparella.”

 

===

 

Kent played like a dream during practice, and that was the only thing keeping Jeff’s guilt from consuming him whole.

 

===

 

It was the night before their pre-season opener -- two weeks since Kent had walked out.

Jeff was sitting on the couch absently watching Mythbusters rereuns when he heard the lock of the front door click open. Kent had at least started talking to Jeff again a few days ago, but never off the ice, so when he came into the apartment with Kit in her carrier and a duffle bag over his shoulder, Jeff was honestly surprised.

Scrambling for the remote, he hurriedly muted the TV and sprang to his feet. “Kent, look, I really should apol--”

Kent held up a hand and fixed Jeff with the coldest look he’d ever seen. Jeff choked on his words. Kent’s eyes were steel grey and hard when he spoke. “Don’t,” was all he said before heading past him and down the hallway.

Jeff didn’t jump when Kent’s bedroom door slammed shut, but it was a close thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a content warning for mildly dubious consent, as Kent wasn't in the best state of mind when Jeff asked him to stay.
> 
> There's at least one more chapter of this, maybe two, and I have more planned for this universe as well :)
> 
> Thanks to the Parse Posi Posse for all their help and cheerleading. Couldn't do it without y'all.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a month before Kent said more than two words to him outside of the rink. Just a simple, “Hey, we’re out of milk.” Jeff assured him that he’d pick some up on the way home, Kent nodded, and that was that.

After that, the ice slowly began to thaw. Kent stopped actively avoiding him, Jeff stopped second-guessing every word that came out of his mouth, and eventually they reached a point where they were more or less functional together - albeit far removed from the closeness they had shared before. The season carried on. They won some, they lost some, hockey was hockey.

It was three months into the season, just after the Winter Classic, when Jeff started to notice. Little things. A missed pass. A flubbed check. A wide shot. Things that were normal in hockey, things that could happen to any player. But Kent Parson wasn’t just any player. Kent wasn’t sleeping well, wasn’t eating right. Every so often, Jeff could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen late at night.

Any time Jeff thought about maybe saying something, he remembered steel grey eyes and a hard  _ Don’t. _

So Jeff focused on himself. He worked hard at practice, he went out with the guys, he even picked up a few subs here and there. It was fun, it was relaxing. It helped to keep him centered and focused on games.

And yet Kent just kept getting worse and worse. To the point that their teammates started noticing.  _ Just a slump, _ Kent assured them.  _ I’ll get over it, no big deal. _

After his third game in a row where he didn’t put a single point on the board, Kent broke a stick over his knee in frustration. That night, Jeff tried to get him to talk about it, but Kent just snapped at Jeff to leave him the fuck alone and so Jeff did.

Kent started picking fights with Jeff about the stupidest things. Jeff leaving his clothes in the dryer. Jeff eating the last of the granola bars. Jeff loading the dishwasher incorrectly. Every time, Jeff would grit his teeth and swallow down his questions and concerns. It was obvious what was going on, but if Kent wasn’t going to own up to it, Jeff sure as hell wasn’t going to push it again.

So when Kent stayed late after practice shooting pucks into the net, Jeff just let him know he was going to get an uber home and that coach said to lock up when he was done.

Every word from Kent’s mouth was sharp now, designed to hurt, to goad, to irritate. Jeff brushed them all off. He wasn’t perfect, he snapped sometimes too, but that just had Kent biting back harder and Jeff was tired, okay? He was so fucking tired of whatever the hell this was.

He started spending more time at Scrappy’s place. Scrappy was a good friend, but between him, his wife, their other sub Sasha and their three dogs, there wasn’t a whole lot of room in the apartment and Jeff ended up sleeping on the couch more often than not.

Kent started acting reckless at clubs. He was drinking more. Their teammates tried to get Jeff to intervene, but all Jeff could hear was the  _ Don’t _ ringing in his ears. He told them Kent was a grown man, he could take care of himself.

Except apparently he couldn’t.

 

===

 

It all came to a head right around the last week of January. 

They’d lost at home to the fucking Sharks  _ again _ and coach had torn them a new one afterwards in the locker room. The few subs on the team that they’d called up from the AHL were already kneeling from the stress of it, and Jeff helped Scrappy to take care of one of them after most of the rest of the guys had left. By the time they’d gotten the kid back up and into a cab home, Jeff was emotionally and physically exhausted. He declined Scraps’ offer to go out and unwind for the comfort and relative quiet of his own apartment.

Quiet meant that Kent apparently wasn’t home yet. Jeff sent him a quick text, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get a response. Whatever. Jeff waited up a little bit, playing some stupid connect-three game on his phone to pass the time, but eventually he gave up and just went to bed.

He heard a door open sometime around 3 am, but he was too exhausted to do more than check his phone for the time before he fell right back to sleep.

 

===

 

The next morning, Jeff woke to the sound of his alarm blaring. He yawned and stretched out his limbs, savoring those last few precious moments of warmth under his comforter before getting up. First stop, bathroom. Second stop, fucking  _ coffee. _

They had a Keurig, of course, but Jeff hated the thing and they didn’t have practice until the afternoon, so he dug out the French press from one of the cabinets and set a kettle on the stovetop to boil. He was soon joined by Kit rubbing her cheek along his ankles. She chirped at him mercilessly until he dumped a can of food into her bowl. He refilled the dry food bowl too, because it seemed that Kent hadn’t done that when he came home. 

That should have been Jeff’s first clue.

But then the kettle was whistling and he was dying for coffee and eggs sounded good and maybe some bacon and peppers and onions and before he knew it he was sitting at the table eating breakfast and messing around on his phone.

Kent still wasn’t up.

But Jeff wasn’t his caretaker. He’d obviously gotten in late, was probably hungover, and was sleeping in. So what? Jeff cleaned up the kitchen, grabbed a second cup of coffee and went to sit out on the balcony to watch the city stir to life.

He came back in an hour later and Kent still wasn’t up. By that time, it was getting to the point where if he didn’t get up soon, he was going to miss skate.

Saying a prayer to the gods of hockey to give him strength, Jeff made his way to Kent’s bedroom and knocked on the door.

No response.

He knocked again. “Parse? You awake? We’ve got skate today.”

Nothing.

“Kent?” He pushed open the door, thankful to see it was unlocked. It was dark in the room with the blackout curtains drawn, and it took a few seconds for Jeff’s eyes to adjust. When they did, he could make out a blanket covered lump in the middle of Kent’s bed. “Hey, you should probably wake up, man.”

There was a muffled noise from the blanket heap, but it didn’t move.

“Come on, Kent. I’ve already got coffee made, and I’ll get you some advil or whatever. Just get up or I’ll have to drag your sorry ass out of bed.” But even that didn’t get a response. Jeff reached over to push at his shoulder gently.

Kent was shaking.

“Woah, hey buddy, what’s going on?” Jeff was starting to get worried. He sat on the edge of the bed and peeled the covers back from Kent’s face to see that he was bundled up in an oversized hoodie with the hood up, his eyes open but glassy. They looked in Jeff’s direction but couldn’t seem to focus.

“...Jeff?”

“Kent, hey. What’s going on? Do you feel sick?” 

“Cold,” was all Kent managed to say.

Jeff reached out his hand and held the back of it to Kent’s forehead. He was burning up.

Shit.

Sub drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me! I'll have to split it into two parts. The next one should be the last chapter in this particular fic, though I have many more planned for this universe.
> 
> Thanks to the Parse Posi Posse for all their help and support! I couldn't do it without you guys.


	4. Chapter 4

Jeff cursed under his breath as he took his hand away from Kent’s forehead. “Christ, what did you get up to last night?” he asked, more to himself than anything else. Kent didn’t bother to respond anyway.

“Kent? Hey bud, look at me,” Jeff said softly. He brushed the hair back from Kent’s forehead, damp with sweat as Kent’s unfocused eyes turned toward him. “Hey. I’m gonna go get you something to eat and drink, and then we’re gonna get you in the shower, okay? Just stay right here, I’ll be back.” He rubbed a hand soothingly along Kent’s shoulder before he stood and went out into the kitchen.

Shit, shit, shit, this was not good. Fuck, Jeff hadn’t had to deal with someone in subdrop in _years_ because he was a fucking good dom, okay? He had aftercare down to a science and his subs rarely dropped as a result of that. He ran through a checklist in his head: hydration, food, warmth, comfort. The basics of getting someone out of subdrop before it got too dangerous.

A quick glance into the fridge didn’t bring up anything too promising, but after looking in the cupboards Jeff found a package of the gummy fruit snacks that Kent always insisted on buying. He snatched those as well as a bottle of Gatorade - strawberry, Kent’s favorite, because there’s no accounting for taste - and headed back toward the bedroom. After Kent’s shower he’d make him some actual food for breakfast, but right now his main concern was getting some liquid and sugar into him.

Kent still hadn’t moved from his blanket nest on the bed when Jeff came back. After a bit of encouragement and gentle prodding, Jeff managed to get Kent into a position vaguely reminiscent of vertical and tore open the fruit snacks. One by one, he popped them into Kent’s mouth, waiting patiently as he chewed and eating the grape ones himself because Kent always complained that they tasted like medicine. Between bites, he held the Gatorade bottle to his lips and slowly, the color seemed to come back into his cheeks.

When the bottle was half finished and the fruit snacks all gone, Kent allowed himself to be persuaded to stand and walk the ten feet into his ensuite bathroom, leaning heavily on Jeff. It took a bit more convincing to get Kent to allow Jeff to start taking his clothes off - he was still shaking with chills - starting with his hoodie, then the long sleeve tshirt beneath that. It was once he’d pulled that over Kent’s head that he noticed the marks.

There were angry, red rope burns on both of his wrists, rubbed raw in places, and fingertip shaped bruises all along his upper arms. Once he got his undershirt off, there were deep purple bite marks that had broken the skin in places. Jeff had to close his eyes and take a steadying breath when he saw those. What sort of person would _do_ that to someone and not take the time to make sure they were okay afterwards?

But Jeff didn’t say anything about that right now. His concern for the moment was getting Kent into the shower and getting all the grime and sweat and who knows what other bodily fluids left over from the night before washed away. Once the shower had reached a decent temperature - not too hot, because Kent still had a fever running, but not too cold to make the chills worse - Jeff stripped quickly and helped him in.

He took his time washing him. He started with his hair, rubbing suds into it and trying to remember how to do that scalp massage thing he’d gotten at one of the Aces spa days. (Yes, they had spa days. Hockey players needed pampering too.) Kent seemed to like it at least, leaning into Jeff’s touch as he moved onto working body wash into his skin. He used the good kind - the one made with organic lavender oil that Jeff chirped him about but secretly loved - and once he’d gotten him rinsed off, Kent was looking a bit more alert. At least his eyes seemed to be focusing now.

“Feel a bit better?” Jeff asked as he shut off the water and reached for a towel. Kent made some sort of noncommittal noise but allowed himself to be dried. 

Once he’d gotten Kent dressed in a pair of soft sweatpants and one of Jeff’s own Aces hoodies - shut up, it was big and comfy and Kent had practically stolen it from him at this point anyway - he walked Kent out to the living room and installed him on the sofa. As soon as he’d draped an Aces fleece blanket over him, Kit jumped up and started making herself a nest, kneading and purring into his lap. That actually had Kent twitching his lips in a bit of a smile.

“Okay,” Jeff started once Kit had gotten herself settled. “I’m gonna go make some actual food now since we both know those fruit snacks are made from nothing but sugar and regret. So. Eggs and sausage or mac n’ cheese and hot dogs?”

Kent scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “Uh… eggs?” he asked in a voice rough with exhaustion.

“Coming right up,” Jeff said, pressing the TV remote into Kent’s hand before heading into the kitchen.

 

===

 

By the time Jeff emerged with a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage, Kent had managed to find some channel doing back-to-back reruns of last season’s Project Runway. Jeff sat next to him and made a show of displaying his creation. “Voila!” he said proudly. “Eggs with cheese, peppers, onions and Canadian bacon. I even used that awful seasoning mix thing that you like.”

“Seasoning mix?” Kent asked skeptically.

“Yeah, that stuff in the glass shaker that you got from the one farmer’s market we went to the last time we were out east?”

“Oh,” Kent said, shaking his head slowly. “I never thought to try that on eggs.”

“Well, let’s see how it is, then. Want me to…?” Jeff motioned between them with a fork. Kent seemed to hesitate for a second. “I won’t if you don’t want me to, it’s okay,” Jeff said, quieter. That seemed to reassure him, so Kent nodded.

They sat in comfortable silence, just the low murmur of the contestants and judges coming from the television as background noise. Jeff fed Kent forkfuls of eggs and sausage, taking a few bites for himself (the seasoning thing was actually really good, he decided) and soon they’d made their way through the entire plate.

After Jeff set the plate aside, he looked Kent over. The color had returned to his cheeks and his eyes were clear now, a soft mottled grey in the morning light. Still, the two of them probably weren’t going to make it to skate today. It didn’t matter. He’d call or text the coaches at some point soon.

Kent took in a big breath and let it out in a huff. “Are you gonna make me talk about it?” he asked finally, not quite making eye contact with Jeff.

Jeff shook his head and put his arm gently around his shoulders. “Not unless you want to.”

“I --” Kent started, then stopped. He glanced at Jeff, opened his mouth again to say something, and closed it again. In the background, someone complained about the ruffles on a dress. After a moment’s hesitation, Kent slowly slid against Jeff’s side, tucked his head into his shoulder, and cried.

 

===

 

They sat quietly for a long time. Jeff didn’t say anything, just kept his arm around Kent’s shoulders and rubbed soothing circles into his arm. At some point, he’d gotten his phone out of his pocket and texted the coach and a few of the guys that they wouldn’t be in for skate. Coach was disappointed, pointing out that if they didn’t show, they’d both have to be scratched for the following night’s game. It was a home game against Ottowa, which hardly mattered in the long run, so Jeff apologized and Coach didn’t push it.

The three finalists were getting ready for Fashion Week when Kent finally spoke. “I went to a club off the strip,” he said, not looking up from Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff made an encouraging noise, but otherwise stayed silent. “I was just so… And there was this dom -- It was one of those clubs that have the play rooms you can rent?”

Jeff waited for Kent to continue but nothing seemed to be forthcoming. After a moment, he just asked quietly, “What happened?”

Kent shrugged. “What always happens. He got me down, I got him off, he left.”

“What, like, right afterward?” Kent nodded. Jeff continued, “Did he even bring you back up before--?” Kent shook his head and Jeff swore softly in Russian, something one of the goalies had taught him last season. “That’s not healthy,” he said after a moment.

Kent just shrugged again. “Didn’t know what else to do.”

“You could have come to me,” Jeff said, and he couldn’t keep the note of hurt out of his voice.

Under his arm, Kent stiffened. “I tried. You wouldn’t let me.”

That was news to Jeff. “What?”

“I tried. You kept ignoring me,” Kent said, his voice raising a bit, anger in his words.

“Ignoring you? Ignoring you _how?_ ” Jeff asked, his voice getting a little heated as well.

Kent let out a humorless laugh. “Nothing I did made you notice.”

And that -- that’s got Jeff pissed off. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Kent, I noticed. I noticed _plenty,_ okay? I’ve been worried sick about you for like a month now. Christ, seeing you like that--”

Kent pulled away from him. “Then why the fuck didn’t you do anything?”

“Why didn’t I-- are you serious?” Jeff just gaped at him. “You told me to stop! You said _don’t_ , so I _didn’t._ I was trying to fucking listen to what you wanted. After what I--”

“I wanted you, I wanted--” Kent said, trying to interrupt.

“Then you needed to fucking _tell_ me that, Kent! Jesus, I don’t play these kinds of games. If you want something from me, need something from me, then you need to fucking _ask_ me for it and we need to _talk_ about it. I’m not a mind reader!”

The fight seemed to leave Kent immediately. He hunched in on himself and looked away.

Jeff took a deep breath to calm himself before he spoke again. “You just need to ask, Kent, okay? You’re my best friend, it was fucking _torture_ watching you hurt like that and not being able to do anything about it. All you have to do is ask.”

“It’s-- I can’t--” Kent swallowed, picking at a corner of the blanket.

“Kent?”

“The last time I asked, I-- he-- it was my fault. It was-- I was too needy.”

“Kent, what do you mean?” Jeff asked softly, laying a hand on his thigh.

Kent looked away. “It was my fault he-- he overdosed.”

Jeff sucked in a sharp breath. “Jack?”

Kent nodded and Jeff watched as a tear ran down his cheek.

Jeff pulled Kent tight against his side and was relieved when Kent allowed the movement. “You can’t blame yourself for that. You can’t. What happened with Jack was not your fault.”

“It was, Jeff. I was too needy, I just made him more anxious, I couldn’t--”

“Shh, shh. Hey. Look at me.” Jeff tapped lightly at Kent’s chin until he finally looked up. “It’s okay to ask for what you need. You’re never going to make me mad or be a burden for doing that, okay? Never.”

Kent took in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Jeff repeated. “So. Will you let me help you out from now on? Stop going to asshole doms in sketchy clubs who leave you to fall into subdrop? Please?”

“Okay,” Kent said, and let out a soft chuckle. “Okay, we can try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's part 1 done! Thank you so much for all the lovely comments - you guys seriously make my day and make the whole writing process worth it! I'm so happy to be able to share these stories with you.
> 
> I am far from done with this universe. I've already got a plan for part 3, and ideas for what happens down the road.
> 
> Thanks once again to the lovely people in the Parse Posi Posse for encouragement, support, and hive mind brainstorming. Love you all.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been reading a hell of a lot of kneeling verse fics, and this was the only logical next step. If you're unfamiliar with Kneeling, it's something that comes out of the hockey RPF community. There may be more to this, there may not. It all depends on how my muse feels.
> 
> Title from "The Pretender" by Foo Fighters, which is the most Parswoops song ever written.
> 
> Thanks to all the lovely people in the Parse Posi Posse discord, y'all are the best <3


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